


A Soul Full of Sorrow

by Hinn_Raven



Series: A Different Game [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Anger, Angst, Confrontations, Dark Stephanie Brown, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Nightmares, Not Happy, Red Hood!Stephanie Brown, Resurrection, Reunions, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4924144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weeks after Steph's fight with Bruce, Cass finally tracks her best friend down. </p><p>Even the Red Hood doesn't stand a chance against Batgirl. But that doesn't mean Steph's not going to try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Soul Full of Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> And we have continuation! I hope you all enjoy it, I certainly had fun writing it! Thanks to sroloc-elbisivni for reading this over for me!

It had been two weeks, but everything still hurt. The explosion had cracked her ribs and she had a concussion from being thrown against the wall. Bruises littered her body, reminding her of just how Bruce had managed to stay alive as long as he had.

Stephanie had been lying low ever since that night, going to hideouts that Bruce didn’t know of and sleeping fitfully. The Black Mask’s face haunted her nightmares, and she woke up screaming night after night, thinking her hands were freshly bloody and struggling to breathe.

She’d managed to find a doctor of dubious morals who had given her painkillers for her ribs and told her to avoid fights. Her head ached and her vision blurred.

Talia had called her, briefly, whispering assurances and offers of help. Steph barely had the energy to thank her.

She was _furious_. Her blood boiled and she pulled her hair and punched the walls and screamed until her voice was hoarse.

After all that, he was still alive. She should have set the charges right under him, made sure that he would be blown to hell, obliterated from existence until not even the best forensic scientist could put him back together again. She shouldn’t have taken her time, she should have just dragged out the damned drill and taken the fucking thing to his _brain._ She paced the room, coming up with new ways to kill him, new things she would make him suffer.

She watched the news, noting grimly that he hadn’t left jail, clearly having realized she was still alive. She vaguely began to plan what she would do when he eventually did get out—and what she would do, if by some miracle charges stuck.

She stared at the ceiling, her fingers itching. Once, she would have taken that as a cue to find a piano and start playing, pounding out her frustrations in rhythms and melodies. That had been before she had crawled her way through wood and dirt, killing the nerves in her fingers. It had made her clumsy and slow. It had taken far too long to train herself to use her hands enough to use a gun, but that was crude, compared to the technique of piano. She hadn’t bothered to even try since that first time.

Instead, it signaled to her that she needed to fight, to hit something, to _move_. She wrapped her hands in tape and began to punch the bag that hung from the ceiling.

She’d get one of her girls to put on the helmet and stake out the rooftop with a sniper rifle, she thought. The Bats would assume that was her, and that would distract them from her. She knew she could get herself into the Mask’s guard with a few phone calls and a few greased palms. She’d get close, just close enough, and then she’d slit his throat. She’d dye her hair and disguise her face, and she’d look him in the eye and see him disappear.

It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it would suffice. She wondered if the cops would shoot her when they realized what she was doing. What she had done. They wouldn’t be fast enough to stop her, she’d be sure of that.

She wasn’t entirely sure she would care if they did.

Steph pushed those thoughts aside. That didn’t matter. What mattered was killing the Mask. He needed to pay. Once, it wouldn’t have had to be in blood, but too many years had passed, and the price had gone up.

And maybe then the nightmares would stop.

Steph went back to bed, and dreamt of the whir of drills and the tightness of a coffin.

_“Bruce!”_

_The air is stale and rancid, everything smells of decay and death._

_“Tim!”_

_No weapon, no tools, just her and her hands, just her. Only her. She’s alone._

_“Cass!”_

_Blood falling onto her face, everything hurts, her lungs are already too tight, dizzy as the earth cascades towards her like a waterfall._

_“Mom!”_

_Nothing makes sense, she’s supposed to be safe, they found her, they saved her, everything’s alright now. So what is happening?_

**_“Batman!”_ **

She woke up and went to a different location, as had become her routine ever since her fight with Bruce. This one was an old, abandoned office building. Homeless kids lived on the ground floor, safe under the protection of the Red Hood. Working girls came and went, passing on tips and telling her if anyone hadn’t come home the night before. Steph sent out a few people to investigate, and then went up to her office.

When she got there, she took off her helmet. She’d cut her hair at last, so that it didn’t fall in her face anymore. There was a new scar on her lip from her fight with Bruce. She touched it gingerly, wincing. It was still sore. She had been lucky not to lose any teeth from that encounter. She snorted. Her. Lucky.

She shrugged off her jacket and draped it over the swivel chair that accompanied the desk. She collapsed into it with a sigh, and set to work.

Tina had brought Steph reports from her various lieutenants; only a handful of people knew where Steph was, so she was running her organization from the shadows, trying to keep things together even as she was falling apart. With the Mask in jail, no one had yet stepped in to challenge her, but she knew it was only a matter of time. She wondered if Bruce would let her be when she finally recuperated enough to leave this place, or if he would hound her like he hounded he would any other costumed criminal whose name wasn’t Roman Sionis.

The Gotham underworld was used to Batman swooping in and putting someone out of the game temporarily. She figured she had another week or two before her people started getting restless and disobedient. She’d be better by then. She’d knock heads together, and quietly start grooming her successor for when Bruce took her down. She didn’t want everything to fall apart without her. Despite what Bruce might think, she had made changes. There weren’t drive-bys anymore, and she kept kids out of the business. She made things safer for the women, and she wouldn’t kill civilians in her own quest for vengeance.

She was _nothing_ like her father.

She glanced at one report that Tina had brought her. Arthur Brown had been moved into solitary confinement for his own safety—the reasons weren’t specified, but it was obvious. She wanted to laugh. Like that would stop her. Maybe she should kill him first. Beat him to death with a brick, or maybe pump him full of the drugs that had stolen her mother from her, years ago.

She shook her head, frowning. He’d be expecting that. They all would. They probably were waiting in the wings, ready to swoop down the minute she made a move.

Crystal had been brought back to town, probably so Bruce could make sure that Steph didn’t contact her. Steph thought about that for a moment, feeling an ache in her chest as she thought about her mother.

She stopped herself. There would be time for that after the Mask was dead.

The proximity alarms went off, jolting her out of her reverie. Steph turned to her computer, pulling up the security cameras.

She caught a glimpse of Batgirl, standing in plain sight of the cameras. It was impossible to tell where she was looking under the full mask, but Steph knew exactly where she would be looking, were she able to see the eyes.

Straight into the lens.

Of course. She should have known. Maybe she had, deep down, ever since she had seen the tabloid image of Dick Grayson meeting his younger sister at the airport, wrapping his arms around her in a hug, seemingly oblivious to the paparazzi.

Time seemed to slow down. Steph closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. She could hear her heart beat in her ears, calm and slow. She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a gun, automatically checking to see if it was loaded. It would be useless, of course, but Steph had enough pride that she didn’t want to go into this empty-handed. She flipped the safety off, and got to her feet.

She put on the jacket, feeling the comforting weight of the brown leather as she zipped it up to her throat. She was relatively unarmed, but that wouldn’t make a difference. Nothing was going to change the outcome of this fight.

No one else had heard the alarms. No one else realized what was coming. But that didn’t matter, because Steph knew that Cassandra Cain had come for only one thing.

The door opened.

Cass’s mask was off. That was the first thing Steph noticed. Her hair was bobbed, but the removing of her cowl had left it staticy, sticking up in various directions. She was looking at Steph like she was seeing a ghost, and Steph’s lips curled sardonically as she realized that was exactly what was happening.

Steph was sitting on top of her desk, one hand on the gun, which sat next to her. “Wondered if I’d be seeing you,” she said with a deliberate lightness that wouldn’t fool anyone for a second. She wondered, briefly, if she should have put on her helmet.

Cass was silent, still looking at her, as if frozen by the sight of Steph, alive and well. Her eyes were surrounded with circles so dark that it looked as if she had bruises beneath them. Cass hadn’t been sleeping well, it seemed. Steph wondered if she looked any better. Probably not. It didn’t really matter, anyways.

“It’s really you,” Cass said, and her voice was exactly the way that Steph remembered. There was that lilt, that hesitation.

Steph laughed, not taking her eyes off Cass. “Please. I left enough DNA for Bruce to confirm that.” Blood and fingerprints and hair, a series of evidence enough for even the paranoid Bruce Wayne.

“You could have been a clone,” Cass took another step forward, moving at last. Steph’s hand tightened on the gun, as futile of a gesture as it was.

“Maybe I am,” Steph said. “Or maybe I’m something else. Magic, maybe. Or Clayface! I could be Clayface.”

“No. You’re Steph,” Cass looked like it physically pained her to say that, and Steph dug her fingernails into her leg to try to hide the wave of fury that swept through her. It was a useless gesture, but Steph liked to pretend that she was still in control.

“What, and you get to decide that?”

“Your body language,” Cass said quietly, moving closer still. “It’s the same as Spoiler’s.”

“I’m not Spoiler,” Steph snapped. “Do you see a fucking purple cape?”

Cass just looked at her. “What happened to you?”

“Besides being tortured for days on end? Besides dying, so _sure_ you were about to break down the door and save me?” Steph said, keeping her voice calm. She picked the gun off the table, and held it in her lap.

Cass flinched, the way she never did when bullets hit her. “Steph—”

“Oh, stop acting so self-righteous,” Steph said, her lip curling.

“This isn’t you!” Cass pled.

“Then who is it?” Steph demanded, her voice rising to a shout, her voice echoing through the office.

She got to her feet, sliding off the desk, slamming the gun onto the flat surface. “Tell me! Who the fuck is this then?”

Cass didn’t have an answer for her.

“I’m the same girl who I’ve always been,” Steph said, crossing her arms. “I’ve just stopped thinking things can be _better_. I’ve stopped pretending. Maybe the Black Mask is right. Maybe all those knives and drills and cattle prods did show my real self. Or maybe it was just the Lazarus Pit. Or maybe it was just realizing that, despite how you all talk about friendship and family and _trust_ , that never actually meant people like me!”

It was too much. Seeing Cass, seemingly unchanged by the years, was too much. Steph felt her heart race and the walls around her shrink, pressing around her like the walls of her coffin and push of the graveyard dirt above her.

Cass probably knew what was going to happen a moment before Steph even realized what she was doing. She snatched the gun off the table and fired four shots in quick succession. Her fingers moved against the trigger on their own accord, and the sounds shook the world, shattering the peace.

Cass was pure motion as she wove between the bullets with a dancer’s grace. Her gloved hand closed around Steph’s wrist in seconds, wrenching it upwards, the bullets going through the ceiling. Steph struck out with her free hand, scratching and clawing at Cass’s face. Cass slammed her against the wall, pinning her there. The gun went skittering away, firing one last time into the wall, harmless.

Cass said nothing, only frowned at Steph. She hadn’t even drawn blood—the lines from her fingernails were already fading.

“You’re so confident you’ll just win this, won’t you?” Steph spat. “Go ahead. Turn me in. Get this over with.”

“It’s not too late,” Cass said, staring at her earnestly. Steph heard a note of desperation in her voice. “Come _home_. Please. We can… we can fix this.”

Steph laughed, hysterical. “No. I can’t be fixed.”

“You can _change_ , Steph.” Cass was begging. “Please. Come _home_.”

She let Steph go, and Steph wavered, but stayed upright. Not that it gave her any advantage. It was so frustrating, fighting Cass. It was like arguing with a brick wall. Steph was good, she was so much better than she had been, but this was _Cass_. She shrugged off bullets and had beaten Shiva and knew her own strength with a precision that was terrifying. Cass wasn’t unstoppable, but she was pretty damn close, and Steph had, stupidly, not come up with a contingency for this. She didn’t know why. It was so obvious, now that she was staring it in the face. 

“Did Bruce tell you what I did?” Steph demanded, still feeling unsteady on her feet. “Did he tell you how I sliced the skin back from Mask’s arm, layer by layer? Did he tell you about what I did to him? What I tried to do?”

“But you didn’t,” Cass said. “You didn’t kill him.” She said this like it was a good thing, like it was a saving grace, a lifeline that Steph could cling to, use to crawl her way back to the person she had once been. But that person had died long before Steph had snapped the neck of her teacher.

“I’m going to,” Steph snapped, unsure if she was mocking Cass or trying to provoke her. “I’ll get him. He can’t hide forever. And it’s not like he would have been my first kill.”

“I know,” Cass said, firmly, obviously pretending that the blood on Steph’s hands didn’t bother her. But Steph knew better. “But you can still stop this.”

“Oh Cass,” Steph smiled for the first time in a long, long time, the expression unfamiliar on her face. “You’re as stupid as I was.” She reached out, and pressed her hand against Cass’s cheek, caressing her face. Cass let her, and Steph could have sworn she saw Cass relax slightly. Maybe she thought it was a sign of surrender, a sign of her victory. Cass was so used to winning, it never had occurred to her that this was a battle with no victors. “But I’m the monster of this story, Cass. Maybe I always was.”

Cass shook her head. “No.” She said it so easily, as if her believing it made it true.

“I’m not going to stop because you asked me to, Cass,” Steph said, the words bitter and burning on her tongue. “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to put him through every single thing he did to me. If you want to stop me,” Her fingers curled into a fist by her side. “You’ll have to _make me_.”

She didn’t even make contact. Cass hadn’t gotten any slower since they had last seen each other, since that glimpse during the War Games. If anything, she’d gotten _faster_. She was a blur of movement as Steph attacked, hitting air with each punch. It was like fighting a ghost, Cass blurring in Steph’s vision as she danced around her, leaving Steph swiping and lunging uselessly.

And then, Cass started fighting back.

It was mechanical, brutal, and efficient. Cass punched Steph three times—chest, stomach, arm—and then seized Steph and threw her over her head with amazing ease, as if she wasn’t five feet tall and a hundred pounds soaking wet. As if Steph didn’t have six inches and fifty pounds on her.

Steph collided with her desk. It had been a cheap creation of plywood and it shattered under the force, splintering as Steph crashed through it towards the floor.

A foot was pressed against her chest, pinning her in place.

“Are you done?” Cass was _furious_. She’d moved past the nostalgia and sorrow, and Steph was _glad_. It had been too much, seeing Spoiler and Robin reflected back at her in Cass’s dark eyes. She had purged them for a reason. She couldn’t afford that kind of weakness. Now Cass had come to terms with what Steph was, they could move forward.

“Tell me, Cass,” Steph gasped through the pain, her breathing ragged. “How long was it before Tim put on the Robin costume? Was it five whole minutes out of respect for the dead?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Cass said, anger fading slightly.

“So you all say,” Steph said bitterly, breathing heavily as she tried to realign herself.

“Bruce was… not okay. After he heard the news. Tim went out to stop him from doing things that he’d regret.”

Steph’s lip curled. “Sure,” she said. “Like actually stop the Mask.”

“We couldn’t—”

“Like. Hell. You. Couldn’t.” Steph’s arms were splayed out as she lay amongst the wreckage of her desk, and she felt her fingers close around the hilt of her knife that had been hidden in one of the drawers. “I might believe that, sure, you can’t keep him in jail. It’s happened before. But you never _tried_. None of you! I come back, and he’s stronger than ever. He’s sitting on his throne, on the corpses of a thousand people just like me, and none of you have done _anything_.” Steph laughed again. It tasted foul in her mouth.

“Bruce sent me away,” Cass said suddenly, cutting off Steph’s laugh. “Because I—because of what I thought I would do. I wanted to hurt him. And Bruce did too. We stayed away because—because we would go too far.”

Steph glowered up at her. “So why bother, then? Why not just hang up the cape, let him conquer the fucking city? Since stopping him is clearly so far down on your list of priorities.”

“Steph—”

“No. I’m done talking. I’m done listening to your excuses.” Steph’s arm was an arc as she stabbed Cass’s leg, sinking the blade into the flesh of her shin. Cass had somehow not seen it coming—or maybe it was a free move, given to Steph out of Cass’s guilt complex and self-hatred. But it was enough. Cass was too good to flinch, but no one, not even Cassandra Cain, could take a blow like that without taking a least a little weight off their leg. Steph threw Cass off, rolling to her feet. She scooped up the gun where it lay on the floor, and started shooting again.

Cass was raw fury this time, and Steph was thrown bodily into the wall, slipping to the floor as her head collided hard with the plaster and sheetrock.

“Enough,” Cass’s lips were curled away from her teeth in a snarl that would put fear into the bravest of hearts.  

“Go on then,” Steph mocked, her breath hitching as she wrapped her arms around her chest to support her ribs. “Take me to the police. I can’t wait until they realize that a dead girl is the Red Hood. And not just any dead girl. _Robin_. How long do you think I should wait before telling them about Bruce? Half an hour?”

Cass’s face was stone. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I? I’m a killer, Cassie. I tried to kill Bruce.” Steph grinned at Cass, but it didn’t feel right on her face.

“And yourself,” Cass snapped. “You don’t care about who you hurt to get to the Mask. But you don’t want to hurt us, not really. We’re not… the target. You can’t lie to me. You never could, Steph.”

“Gonna be pretty hard to kill Mask from inside a cell,” Steph said flatly. “Seems to me like I have plenty of motivation.”  

Cass’s expression didn’t change. “Be harder if I follow you everywhere.”

“Aw, I’m touched, really. Best friend necklace still intact, huh?”

Cass looked away for a second. “I missed you,” Cass said, smiling sadly. Then her fist swung towards Steph’s face, and darkness came crashing down.

* * *

 

“Can we really keep her here?” Tim asked. Anxiety radiated off him, and Cass didn’t blame him. His hair was held back in a messy ponytail, and he looked like he was about to start pacing again. He’d been like this since Cass had called it in. Probably had been since Babs had told them where Steph was that morning.

“She can’t break out,” Bruce said wearily. Bruce hadn’t slept in far too long. Cass hoped that this would change now, but she doubted it. “And hopefully we can reach her.” He pressed a hand against Cass’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. Cass leaned against him, watching Steph through the glass.

She was just sitting on the floor, staring at them, even though Cass knew that the glass was mirrored on her side, and she couldn’t know where they were. Her eyes were dead, her expression blank.  

The room they’d placed her in was large and spacious, with a bed and a bookshelf that Cass had loaded with all of the books she remembered Steph liking. The walls were painted a pale yellow, the bed was soft and comfortable, and there was a beanbag. Paintings hung on the walls. There was a wardrobe filled with clothes, and a screen that gave Steph privacy to go to the bathroom and change.

It was a beautiful jail cell.

Cass looked at the girl who her best friend had become and wanted to cry.

Crystal stood beside her, clutching Cass’s other arm with a grip so tight that Cass thought she might go numb any second. “She looks…” Crystal trailed off, hand pressed over her mouth. Crystal had been Cass’s second call as she had loaded Steph’s unconscious form into the Batmobile.

In the white t-shirt and jeans she was wearing, they could all see the scars that covered Steph’s body. Crisscrossing her arms were thin white lines, wider, jagged ones that decorated her chest, and her face was a mess.

It took every ounce of control that Cass had to stop herself from running to the police station and punching the Black Mask until no one would recognize him.

“We can get her help from here,” Bruce said quietly.

“And Talia can’t break her out,” Tim added. It had been surprising to all of them, realizing that Talia had been the one to bankroll Steph. They were still trying to figure it out, but hopefully Talia wouldn’t be able to reach Steph here. Here, they could talk to her, try to help her.

Cass thought about Steph’s screams when she woke up, and tried not to feel like she’d betrayed her best friend.

Crystal turned away, biting her lip, a movement that reminded Cass dizzyingly of Steph. “I’m going to call her.” Her fingers pulled out her cell, trembling.

“Should we—” Bruce began, but Crystal shook her head.

“Stay. Please.”

They had given Steph a phone that could take calls, but couldn’t send them. It rang, and Steph answered it.

“What?” She said. “Come to tell me your demands?”

“Steph? Baby?” Crystal’s voice shook as she spoke to her daughter for the first time in years.

They saw Steph’s face cycle through emotions so quickly that Cass didn’t even have time to name them. There was a moment of perfect stillness, as she stood there, staring at the cell phone in her hand.

And then the moment was shattered as Steph threw the phone against the wall with all the strength she possessed. She leapt to her feet, stomping it with her feet again and again, not even seeming to notice that she wasn’t wearing shoes. Then her head whipped around, and she stared right at them. Cass took an involuntary step back, the rage on Steph’s face was so surprising.  

“Go away!” She lunged for the window, slamming her fist against it repeatedly. “ _Go away_!”

“Steph,” Crystal pressed her fingers against the surface, as if trying to reach her through the glass.

“ _Go the fuck away_ ,” Steph screamed, tears running down her face, but not seeming to notice them. “Go away! Leave me alone!”

Crystal seemed to wilt, falling to her knees. “I need to talk to her. Let me in there.”

If Cass had ever doubted that Crystal was Steph’s mother, the note of determination in her voice would have soothed those concerns.

“Not yet,” Cass said, going to her side. “I know, but not yet. Give her time.” It was so hard to say, when Steph was screaming and raging and in pain. But Cass knew better. Steph would not listen. Not right now. And Cass didn’t want to give her an opportunity to do something she would regret later.

Steph had returned to destroying the phone, hysterically sobbing as she ruined the soles of her feet by repeatedly stomping on it.

“Come along,” Alfred said, looking older than normal as he helped Crystal to her feet. “Let’s… leave her for now. Miss Gordon will tell us if anything changes.” He began to usher them all away, towards the kitchen, where tea waited for them.

Cass lingered as the others slowly moved away, distracted by Crystal, who had started to quietly cry as she moved away from her daughter.

Steph had collapsed on the floor, chest heaving silently. Cass stared for a long, drawn out moment, before making up her mind.  

She opened the door, just enough so that Steph could see her. Steph’s head whipped up at the sound, glaring at her. Steph didn’t move, but stared at Cass silently.  

“I’m not giving up on you,” Cass said quietly, looking straight into Steph’s eyes.  

The ghost of a smile flickered across Steph’s face. “You really should.”

**Author's Note:**

> There is nothing more in the world than I wanted more than to give this fic a happy ending. But it's not that kind of universe, sadly. Maybe one day.


End file.
